


DC13: One Man's Trash

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:05:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: One Man's Trash:  Wheat's a little sore at their Leader and has plans all his own, quite separate from those of Heyes.Destiny’s Cycle (DC) follows the Outlaw days.. what does Destiny have in store. Each month, I get a challenge, and then the cycle continues. You can follow KC, HH, & the gang through their adventures. DC does link together, but some tales stand on their own. Yet, its building its own world history, inside jokes, characters, places, etc. I hope you enjoy DC. Feedback WELCOMED!





	DC13: One Man's Trash

“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure…..”

 

 

 

Clad in a clean pair of pants, his bare feet hitched on the porch railing, Heyes looked up from the novel he had begun at the sound of Curry’s approach. With a grin, he shoved a hand back through his damp bangs, “heard a yelp, a bit ago. . .” The grin expanded into a larger smile, “. . . was that Wheat taking the fast route down?”

Removing his hat, Curry slapped it against his leg, a puff of dust drifting off. “Yup!” Tossing the Stetson into an empty chair, he bent untying his holster strap from his leg, “moved himself off to that tree on the corner of the bunkhouse.” Straightening, he shook his head, “it was touch and go, if’n he was going to make it.” Stepping onto the porch, he shrugged out of his vest. “Lost two dollars on it.”

A snort erupted from Heyes, “Because, you bet he would make it?”

“Seemed like a safe bet.” Curry shook his head, “and he did make it to the tree.” Tossing his vest in the chair, he began toeing off his left boot. “Anyway, while he was working his way down, he got hung up.” The boot popped off and he started on the other, “and, well, when he twisted ‘bout to get free…” his other boot hit the deck and he put his hands on his hips, “… he slipped…” Curry shook his head again, this time there was a touch of sorrow to the move, “if’n I was you, I’d avoid Wheat for a while.”

The dark brows dipped, Heyes’ right eye squinching up a bit as he peered over at his partner.

“He came down straddle on that limb he was on.”

The brows shot up, Heyes’ mouth forming a perfect O as he released a soft gasp.

“That was the yelp you heard, then he just kind of toppled out of the tree.”

Looking down, Heyes pinched the bridge of his nose, “he all right?”

“Took him a good while to unball and stagger to his feet.” Curry replied, peeling off his socks. “I went ahead and set the ladder up for Lobo and Hank.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“Thought so,” Curry stated, unbuttoning his sweat, stained shirt. A frown shifted across his face and he flung the shirt at the chair. “And, you ought to know the others kind of felt it was your fault.”

“My fault?”

“Yup, so, while I clean up. . .” He stopped, looking pointedly at his partner, “You did leave fresh water on the boil for me?!”

“Of course, I did.” Heyes responded with a flat, indulgent smile.

“Good. Then, while, I clean up you might keep your guard up.” Curry looked down the hill toward the bunkhouse, “they all like Wheat, and they were grousing pretty good, when I left.”

“But, I’m their leader.”

Curry’s chin lowered, his blue eyes icing over as he stared down on his partner.

Heyes swallowed pushing out a quick, tight grin, which did little to improve the hard glare aimed at him; for if there was anyone who could read him it was his cousin and they both knew Curry had just caught him flat footed, “I meant _we’re_ _both_ their leaders.”

Releasing a snort, Curry stated, “That being said, use that brain of yours to figure a way to keep us… on all their good sides.” And, unbuckling his holster, he handed it to Heyes, who did not have a firearm in sight. “But, just in case.”

Heyes eyes widened.

“Like I said, just in case, that bunch can be as hard to read as a knot-headed mule sometimes.”

Heyes studied the closed door his partner had gone through, ‘he can’t really think they might. . .’ His gaze shifting to the Colt handle emerging from the leather pile in his lap. Then for a long while, he stared out across the cabin’s yard and anyone watching would have said they could see the gears turning, as he worked out ideas, twisting them around until they suited him.

 

______________________________ASJ_________________________________

 

 

Riding along the row of saloons, dance halls, and brothels Curry looked back and forth at the loud, boisterous arena, a deep frown decorating his youthful face. And, he was the only one this way, for Heyes and the rest of the Devil’s Hole were all grinning to beat the drum and having a grand time joking with each other. Nudging his horse closer to his partner, as they entered the corral attached to Lottie’s Chicken Ranch, he asked, “You really think this will work?”

A smile appeared. It was the big, wide one, that often irritated Curry. It irritated him because he knew; it meant his cousin was considering himself smarter than those around him. And, consequently, was not surprised when Heyes responded, “Why wouldn’t it?”

Curry’s frown deepened.

“Come on, Kid, have a little faith. They are being treated to all the drinks they want, dinner, and a calico queen of their choice and I’m--” Heyes’ tongue darted across his lower lip, “we’re footing the bill.”

“That is one part of this plan, I don’t care for. The other is them getting liquored up, while feeling unsure about your leadership.”

Heyes looked over sharp, “ _my_ _leadership_? We’re in this together.”

Curry’s cheeks balled up, a toothy smile appearing, “Oh, but they haven’t been talking out of the sides of their mouths about me. . .” He hitched a thumb over at his cousin, “only you.”

The smile disappeared, the brown eyes softening with a touch of pain creasing their corners.

It was not the reaction Curry expected. He had figured on a quick, snide remark being flung his way. With an inward sigh, he said, “Don’t listen to me, Heyes; I’m sure you're correct, and it’ll all work out all right.”

But, Heyes only nodded, stepping down from his horse.

Watching him, walk off, Curry sighed heavily, ‘sometimes, I plain out forget, beneath all that swaggering confidence is still a too smart for his own good boy, who just wants others to notice him, and more importantly like him.”

 

 

______________________________ASJ______________________________

 

 

Heyes walked along, the backside of the bartop, filling shot glasses for each member of the gang and raising his own, said, “To the best crew to be found in all the West.”

Smiles exploded and with hurrahs, they threw back their shots, thumping the glasses down for refills.

Smiling so big it was contagious, Heyes refilled all the glasses, except for Curry’s; because he had turned his over and seeing this, he sharply quirked one brow at him.

“Going to stay clear headed.”

With a chuckle, Heyes, refilled his own and raising it, “to jobs that’ll fill pages in the history books.”

The Devil’s Hole cheered again and right back down the line, he went refilling their glasses, “Tonight is all on me and Kid, ‘cause, we felt you men should know you're appreciated.” Holding up his shot glass, he smiled, “to pals worth riding the trail with.”

These drinks, too, disappeared as fast as the others had and he went right on topping off their glasses, even when he needed to open a second and third bottle, to do so.

Seeing how shiny their faces were getting, Curry stepped behind the bar, snagging the bottle from his partner. “Could let y’all keep drinking, it’d be less strain on my wallet, but let’s go see, to some of that fried chicken dinner and the other extras Lottie’s has to offer.”

With a cheer, the men rushed for the dining hall, where the server’s outfits were made of less cloth than was needed to cover a narrow window. However, when Curry looked to his partner, he found him dejected with his lower lip pouted out. Clapping him on the shoulder, he asked, “What?”

“Why’d you go and do that? They were enjoyin’ themselves…”

“Making them storm drunk is only going to loosen their tongues and maybe, some of their tempers. Let Lottie’s gals do the work of warming them over to you.” Curry responded, wrapping his arm about his cousin’s shoulders. “Being a leader, means we don’t have to do all the work ourselves.” He steered Heyes from behind the bar, “I recall someone telling me that.”

The dimpled smile was back, a little looser and sloppier than normal, from all the rapid fire whiskey shots, but back and leaning close, Heyes slurred, “Thanks, you’re the best partner ever.”

“I already know that.”

“You do??!”

“Yup, ‘cause, I have Hannibal Heyes as my partner.”

The dimpled grin engulfed his cousin’s face.

“Yup, Hannibal Heyes and I know that makes me the best partner ever, because, I get to deal day and night with good ol’ notorious Hannibal Heyes and all his eccentricities.”

Heyes tilted his head to the side, looking over from the slant of his eye, “What?”

Curry looked right back at him, with a large smile, “What… what?”

“Who taught you eccentricities?”

“Like I said,” Curry responded, nudging against his partner and with a warm laugh, kept them moving toward the dining hall, while watching his cousin’s whiskey soaked mind try to muddle through what he had just been told and laughed even harder.

Stepping into the gaudily, decorated hall with long tables covered with food and drink, they were greeted by Kyle hollering, “Heyes, Kid this is the bestest, most wonderful night of my life.”

Taking in the little brunette perched in Kyle’s lap and the chicken leg gripped in his free hand, the partners looked at each other with smiles as wide as the Grand Canyon. Because, all along the tables, the beaming expressions of the gang members matched Kyle’s and it appeared, Heyes’ plan was on the right track.

Before dinner was completed, a button nosed, big eyed, petite brunette had attached herself to Heyes and as the merriment of the dining hall dispersed to various upstairs rooms, it came to him his own partner was still drinking coffee and chatting with Lottie, who was a good twenty, maybe more, years his senior.

Leaning against the doorframe that led to the wide stairs, reaching for the second floor, Heyes looked to the gal tugging at his left hand, to the whiskey bottle in his other, and back to Curry. Clearing his throat, he said, “Uh, Kid… is you and….” he pointed over his shoulder with the whiskey bottle at the stairs and even though his words faded away, his eyes darting to Lottie revealed his thoughts.

The large chested, tight corseted, redhead laughed heartily, laying a hand on Curry’s arm, “Oh my, but, do I not wish. Alas, it appears we are merely goin’ to remain friends.”

Curry took a drink, his eyes darting to the inside of his cup, with a touch of pink gracing his cheeks.

Patting his arm, while still smiling at Heyes, Lottie said, “It’s all right, Hun, you go on up with Betsy, me and your pal, will enjoy some more coffee.” She grinned across at Curry, “While he keeps watch over y’all like a shepherd over a bedded down flock. And yet, even though beds are involved, I do not deem much sleepin’ is goin ‘to be occurrin’.” And, looking to Curry, she asked, “What do you think, Darling?”

The pinkness shifted to red and to avoid answering Curry took another drink.

“Uh, Kid, you sure?”

Without looking away from his cup, Curry responded, “I’m sure… get! Someone needs to stay alert.”

Taking another pull on his whiskey, Heyes followed Betsy upstairs and promptly ran into Wheat, kissing on a round figured, blonde in the hallway.

“Howdy, Wheat, all good ‘tween us?” Heyes asked, pulling his hand from Betsy and offering it to Wheat.

“Well, now, Heyes, it sure appears to be working out that way.” Wheat answered, pointing at the bottle dangling from his leader’s hand and with a smile, Heyes passed it over.

Holding it up, Wheat stated, “to old times.” Then slyly, popping his thumb across the bottle's mouth, he made a show of taking a big drink before returning it.

 Wobbling some on his feet, Heyes flung the whiskey up, swallowing down a good dose of it.  

Wheat pulled the bottle back, “to old grievances,” and once more faked drinking, shoving the bottle over to Heyes.

This time, Heyes leaned closer, his nose scrunching up, “to old grievances??”

“Yeah, may they be fixed.” Wheat replied, motioning for him to drink on it.

The dark eyes narrowed, but with a shrug, he took another long pull and when he lowered the bottle, only the smallest bit swirled to the bottom.

Taking the whiskey bottle from his slack hand, Betsy said, “Now, you knock that off Wheat Carlson or he ain’t gonna be worth a bucket of spit to me.”

A snorting, giggle slipped from Heyes and he had to put a hand on the wall to steady himself.

With a bullish look, Wheat replied, “you mean he is normally.”

With a shake of her head, Betsy latched hold of Heyes propelling him through her bedroom door. But, before she got in, Wheat snagged her, holding her back.

“I gave you a twenty dollar gold piece; you are planning on upholding your end still, ain’t ya?”

“Of course, I am.” But, hearing the thunk of a boot hitting the floor, her eyes slid toward her room. “You ain’t gonna hurt ‘em. You promised you wouldn’t hurt ‘em none.”

“And, I won’t Betsy. I don’t break promises, never have, and never will.”

She nodded, “well, then go on and wait for my whistle.” Having said this, she dashed in, shutting the door after her.

“What you up to, Wheat?”

“Just a bit of payback to our high faultin’ leader,” Wheat replied; looking over his shoulder at the blonde, passing her a wink.

“Don’t ya men, usually, do that by bustin’ one anothers heads in or pullin’ iron?”

Wheat made a chirking noise, “You got the right of it there, Hildy. Only, I really ain’t wanting to hurt ‘em. Hell, I like Heyes, most days. But, I sure do want to injure that pride of his.”

About that time, a wolf whistle rippled through Betsy’s door.

A smile so large, Wheat’s teeth were fully visible behind his bushy mustache appeared and latching hold of the door knob, he burst into the room like a bull buffalo on a rampage. “Hellfire, Heyes, there’s lawdogs swarming in downstairs.”

Before him stood an astounded Hannibal Heyes, as bare as the day he was born, and placing his hands on his leader’s shoulders, who was so drunk, he was most likely seeing double, he shoved him toward the window. “Kid ordered me, to get you out of here first.”

“Out... how?”

Wheat barked, “Right here,” gesturing at the open window.

“But…” Heyes lunged for his pants and about fell down when they resisted his tug, not realizing Betsy was firmly standing on them.

Snatching up the holstered Schofield, hanging on a ladderback chair, Wheat tossed it out the window.

And, Heyes spun watching it go, “that’s my…”

“I know, now get...” Wheat looked desperately back over his shoulder, “I’ll toss your clothes down to you, but how am I supposed to get out of here too, if’n you don’t move.”

His mind spinning and his blood pumping so fast, he could feel it, Heyes placed a leg over the ledge, “but…”

“You want to get caught by the law? Then whose gonna think up a plan to get Kid out?”

Nodding, he lowered himself, until he was hanging from the window sill and taking a breath, let himself drop to the ground. Once on the damp grass, Heyes struggled to his feet, and cupping his hands about his mouth, he hissed up, “Hey, toss my pants down first.”

Leaning on the window ledge, Wheat called, “What’s that, I can’t hear you?”

“My pants!” Heyes called more urgently, “and, hurry the hell up, so we can go help Kid.”

“Why? He ain’t havin’ a lick of trouble, only you is.”

“What?!”

“There ain’t no law here.”

“What?”

“Nope, just us outlaws, now you have yourself a pleasant stroll, Heyes.” And, with a braying laugh, Wheat shut the window.

Hiding in the shadow of the house, Heyes studied the busy, brightly lit street before Lottie’s then the darkness behind it. Taking up his holster, he stared at it. Then, looking up at the window, he had been tricked through, a barrage of curses bubbled from him, some aimed at Wheat and the rest at his drink addled mind that had allowed him to be tricked. When he ran out of sufficient curses, he released a long drawn out sigh and buckled on his gun belt, feeling even more ridiculous, he frowned, shifting the holster to a loin cloth position.

Darting along in the darkness, sweating bullets over the possibilities of being seen, relief sprung up in him on spying a sheet flickering in the pale, starlit night. Except, just as he reached to retrieve the sheet, it slid from his grasp; revealing one of Lottie’s gals busily gathering it into her arms.

He stood frozen.

She stood frozen.

He grinned feebly.

She giggled, “Nice pistol.”

Glancing at his Schofield sticking out of his strategically placed holster, he flamed red from his cheekbones to his collarbones. Leaping forward, he yanked the next clothing items from the line, and wrapping them about himself, made his escape to her rolling laughter.

Now, with his bare back up against the rough, weathered wood of the rear side of the outhouse, he thought, ‘I am going to string Wheat up like one of them piñatas.’ Holding out what he had thieved, he rolled his eyes heavenward, ‘not sure, this is better than being naked.’ With a sorrowful sigh, he climbed in, hitching his holster back around his waist to hold the over-sized clothing in place.

Sober as if a cold bucket had been dumped over him, he soft stepped about the house, swearing each time his tender feet found a sharp rock along the way. But, at least, he had made it, without being sighted and taking a breath, he climbed the wide stairs to Lottie’s door. Shoving his long bangs from his face, he rang the bell.

The same gal he had met out back answered, her eyes glistening from having laughed until she cried. With a hand across her grinning mouth, her bright green eyes looked him over where he stood in a ragged, over patched, pair of pantaloons that belonged to their cook, Mrs. Rachel; which, in all reality, the old gal should relinquish to the rag bin. They were too short on him, and much too large, and his gunbelt appeared to be the only thing keeping them from slipping off. Shaking her head, her eyes slid over him once more, from his tousled hair, red cheeks, across the threadbare pantaloons, to his bare feet and with a snort, she said, “Think I liked you better in just the holster.”

“Thanks,” he replied tightly, sliding by her, handing her a short chemise with a built in padded, bust improver.

Through an eruption of laughter, she barely got out, “Oh, you couldn’t make use of it?”

Passing her a tight smile, that did not reach his eyes; he strode on to the dining hall. However, when he stepped in, Lottie spit her coffee across the tablecloth.

Spinning in his seat, coming to his feet with his Colt cocked and ready, Kid Curry froze at the sight of his partner. His brows lifted, his blue eyes widened, but in a perfectly straight voice, he asked, “My goodness, Heyes, was the dress so bad, you had to throw it in the trash?”

Looking down at himself, Heyes imagined how he would look standing here only in his holster and decided the pantaloons were wonderful. Peering up through his bangs, he shrugged, “well, what is one person’s trash, is another’s treasure.” And, lifting his head, to look his partner straight in the eyes, he snarled, “Now, where is WHEAT?!”

 

 

  


 

 

 


End file.
